While running/biking/driving down dusty country roads this summer, I was struck by something. People see you. The mom who is out on the porch watching her kids play, waves. The old farmer driving his pickup nods. The young guy driving to work, waves from the top of the steering wheel. The farmer’s grandson moves his tractor over a bit to let you pass the cloud of dust. The preacher’s visiting sister stops you on the sidewalk to chat. They all see you. They all saw me.
The following is the first of a few installments. I've been thinking about this topic for several months now and finally put some of those thoughts into words. While running/biking/driving down dusty country roads this summer, I was struck by something. People see you. The mom who is out on the porch watching her kids play, waves. The old farmer driving his pickup nods. The young guy driving to work, waves from the top of the steering wheel. The farmer’s grandson moves his tractor over a bit to let you pass the cloud of dust. The preacher’s visiting sister stops you on the sidewalk to chat. They all see you. They all saw me. Small town America can often feel this way. People know one another. They see each other. They see if you are one of them or if you are an outsider. They see if you are working out in your field, or if you are driving your children to the park in town. In a tiny corner of humanity on a sparsely populated prairie, I am seen. I am known. The downside to this seeing can be felt in a lack of privacy. The connectedness of community and value in recognition can be felt by local and stranger alike. It is not a place to escape existing. It is a place to be known – to be seen.
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AuthorsCarolyn & (sometimes) Ty Archives
March 2016
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